RONIN

                                RONIN    
an original screenplay by

                              J.D. Zeik

                                             DRAFT: May 20, 1997

     A BLOOD RED SCREEN - A JAPANESE DRUM starts to play, softly,
     but tinged with a desperate edge, growing louder, joined by
     other DRUMS as a BLACK LEGEND scrolls up: In feudal Japan,
     the warrior class of Samurai were sworn to protect their
     liege lords with their lives.  Those Samurai whose liege was
     killed suffered a great shame, and they were forced to wander
     the land, looking for work as hired swords or bandits.  These
     masterless warriors were no longer referred to as Samurai,
     they were known by another name: Such men were called Ronin.
     The words hang on the screen and we hold for a BEAT, and then
     the DRUMS are cut off by - A SILENCED GUN SHOT: Thwpfft...

     FADE IN ON:

     INT. A MEDIEVAL CATHEDRAL - NIGHT

     It's dark, and so it takes us a minute to realize we're
     MOVING UP STONE SPIRALING STAIRS, up up up in what we now see
     is a medieval cathedral.  And as we continue MOVING UP
     something TRICKLES DOWN INTO FRAME - BLOOD.  Running thin,
     then thicker, as we CONTINUE TO MOVE UP the stairs and find -
     A BODY, sprawled awkwardly across the stones, arms and legs
     akimbo, not so much Christ-like as victim-like.  In one hand
     the Body holds a GUN he never had a chance to use.  In the
     other - A DARK SHAPE, we can't quite tell what it is.
     FOOTSTEPS sound from above and - THE KILLER walks into frame,
     silenced pistol dangling at his side.  We don't know him, and
     it's going to be a while before we see him again, but mark
     his face because we'll see him again.  The Killer now picks
     up the dark shape in the Body's hand, and we see it's - A
     BRIEFCASE.  The Killer cuffs the Briefcase to his wrist and
     turns to - TWO MEN standing behind him: subordinates.  The
     Killer shows them the Briefcase.

                          KILLER
               God loves me.

     THE BODY suddenly twitches -- this guy is not quite dead.
     The Killer raises his silenced pistol.

                          KILLER
                   (to his victim)
               But I don't think he's too fond of you...

     SLAM CUT TO:

     EXT. A BACK STREET - PARIS - NIGHT

     A PHONE RINGS, replacing the sound of the silenced gun shot
     we expected to hear.

     Rain-slicked cobblestones gleam in a twinkling of
     streetlight.

     EXT. A PHONE BOOTH AT THE END OF THE STREET

     The source of the ringing.  We start to PUSH SLOWLY IN one the
     phone booth, and as we do we hear the VOICE of an UGLY
     AMERICAN.

                          UGLY AMERICAN (V.O.)
               What is this?

     CUT TO:

     INT. A DRIVE BAR IN PARIS - NIGHT

     A SOCCER MATCH is in progress on a TV which sits above the
     bar in this smokey, dim dive.

                          UGLY AMERICAN (O.S.)
               This is not football...

     And now we're PULLING BACK DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE BAR.  We
     see THREE MEN sitting seperately at the bar, paying no
     attention to each other.  One of these men watches the game
     with real interest.  The Ugly American talks on from off
     screen.

                          UGLY AMERICAN (O.S.)
                   (continuing)
               ...Football is three hundred pound guys,
               they run way too fucking fast, they got
               helmets made of kevlar they use to spear
               the quarterback into the next life.

     SLAM CUT TO:

     EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE

     The phone is still ringing, louder now, and we're MOVING
     TOWARDS it while looking THROUGH AN UNSEEN PAIR OF EYES, and
     even as we drink this in we're back in -

     INT. THE BAR

     AT THE END OF THE BAR - LARRY, the Ugly American.  He's got
     an obvious attitude, all of it bad.  But there's something
     about the guy -- he's not all bluster, and he has the look of
     a seasoned tough guy who knows how to get rough and tumble.
     He's big, and yeah he's got a gut, but the rest of him looks
     solid.

                          LARRY
                   (talking to the air)
               You wanna know what football is?  It's
               hitting the other guy dirty and then
               spitting in his face when he's down.
               Football is all things American, and
               American is A-Number-One the absolute
               fucking best there is.  That's what
               football is...
                   (he points to the TV)
               ...And that's not football.

     The one man at the bar who's been watching the gam turns
     slowly and gives Larry a long look.  This is VINCENT: French,
     hard boiled and solid.  Charming when he wants to be, which
     isn't all that often.  He gives Larry a long look and then
     speaks -

                          VINCENT
                   (to Larry in perfect English)
               Football -- American football -- is a
               game for faggots.

     A BEAT.  The other two men at the bar, who seem like tough
     customers themselves, pretend not to watch too closely, but
     they're interested: what's Larry going to say?  For a moment
     it seems as if he's pissed, but then suddenly a smile breaks
     out on his face and he laughs heartily at Vincent's remark.
     Vincent joins in, as do the others.  In particular - THE
     BARTENDER looks relieved -- he's tough enough to toss a bar
     drunk, but these guys are in a different league.  The
     Bartender laughs with the others, happy to have avoided a
     confrontation as we go back to -

     EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE

     We're almost ON TOP OF the phone booth, the phone is still
     ringing as a HAND reaches INTO FRAME and snatches the phone
     from its cradle.

                          A WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
                   (a touch Irish accent)
               Yes?

     ANOTHER ANGLE - And we see a woman named DEIRDRE on the
     phone: striking, dark-haired, Irish.  She carries herself
     with the same professional edge as the men inside the bar.
     Deirdre listens for a moment to the voice on the other end,
     and before she speaks she sense something - A SILHOUETTE
     stands in the shadows of the bar, watching Deirdre.  She
     gives this silhouette a measure glance before speaking, her
     hand creeping ever so slightly towards her coat.

                          DEIRDRE
               Can I help you?

     The silhouette steps into a POOL OF LIGHT.  This is SAM.
     Tough, lean, enigmatic.  Somebody you might trust, but whom
     you'd never cross.  Sam returns her look before he speaks.

                          SAM
               No...

     Sam moves towards the bar, and Deirdre returns to her phone
     conversation.

                          DEIRDRE
               I'm here...
                   (a beat, responding to a
                    question)
               No, it was nothing.

     INT. THE BAR - A MINUTE LATER

     Sam enters and by now the men inside have all come together
     at the bar, talking casually, recognizing they're somehow all
     here for a reason.  With Larry and Vincent we see - GREGOR, a
     man from Eastern Europe.  His accent is hard to pin down,
     but he most definitely has one.  Gregor has the air of an ex-
     spook, and that's exactly what he is.  Lastly we see SWEDE --
     blonde, muscular, and somehow blank in the face.  No, he's
     not stupid -- he's a sociopath.  Now - Sam looks at the
     group, which grows quiet as he enters.  Finally, Sam speaks.

                          SAM
               Sorry I'm late...

                          VINCENT
                   (a challenge)
               What makes you think we're here to meet
               you?

                          SAM
                   (meeting Vincent's gaze)
               Who else would you be?

     Vincent turns towards the others, including them in an
     expansive gesture.

                          VINCENT
               Perhaps the police?

                          SAM
               I know cops -- and you're no cop.

     Vincent smiles at Sam's answer, satisfied, and makes room for
     Sam to join them.  Vincent takes a pack of cigarettes, shakes
     them so that one sticks out, and offers it to Sam.

                          VINCENT
               Cigarette?

                          SAM
               No thanks.

     Vincent looks a little disappointed at this as we go -

     EXT. BACK OUTSIDE - SAME TIME

     THE PAY PHONE makes a sharp noise as it's cracked back into
     the cradle.  Deirdre stands at the phone booth, lost in
     thought.  Then, without warning - Deirdre spins around,
     pulling TWO GUNS from inside her coat.  The move is fast,
     performed with the grace of a professional killer, as Deridre
     scans the horizon, but nobody seems to be watching.  Deirdre
     pockets her guns and steps into the shadows of the street,
     the better to watch -

     THE BAR - And as Deirdre watches the bar we watch her.
     PULLING BACK from Deirdre, UP INTO THE AIR and then MOVING
     THROUGH TO -

     INT. A CHEAP APARTMENT - SAME TIME

     LOOKING THROUGH A WINDOW, donw onto the street below.  Barely
     visible we can see Deirdre.  And staring at Deirdre - THE
     WATCHER.  Somebody we're going to see periodically through
     the movie.  Right now he's only a SILHOUETTE with a well-
     defined PAIR OF HANDS.  And in those hands - A KNIFE.  As the
     Watcher watches he slowly cleans his nail with the knife,
     methodically, perfectly.  And he watches.  First Deirdre, and
     then turning his attention to THE BAR.  He's especially
     interested in the bar.

     A TIME CUT TO:

     INT. THE BAR - LATER

     The BARTENDER is wiping out a last glass.  When this is
     finished he looks up at -

     A TABLE IN THE BACK -

     Where our five guys have relocated.  Now the Bartender and
     Vincent exchange a look, and then the Bartender takes out a
     set of keys and tosses them - THROUGH THE AIR and they SMWACK
     into Vincent's hand.  The Bartender and Vincent speak in
     rapid-fire French, and then the Bartender is gone.  Sam turns
     to Vincent.

                          SAM
               He trusts you to lock up?

                          VINCENT
               Let's just say he knows who I am.

     Vincent takes out his pack of cigarettes and offer them
     around the table -- again, nobody takes on.  Vincent seems
     really disappointed by this.

                          LARRY
               Anybody wanna tell me what we're waiting
               for?

                          VINCENT
                   (lighting his cigarette)
               The question isn't what we're waiting
               for... it's who.

                          LARRY
               And who the fuck is that?

                          GREGOR
               Whoever hired us.

                          SAM
               I got this gig through a contractor.
               And he most definitely didn't know who
               was doing the hiring, only that they
               were paying a lot of money...

     There's a kind of general look around the table -- a nod or
     grunt of acknowledgement, indicating that all of these men
     were hired the same way.

                          SAM
                   (continuing his thought)
               So none of us knows who's paying the
               freight, this is just some anonymous job.
               For all we know, we're working for
               different people.

                          GREGOR
               Now that is an interesting proposition.

                          SWEDE
               How so?

                          GREGOR
               Because if there's more than one party
               involved, if we really are working for
               different people, then perhaps some of us
               are on different sides.
                   (with great meaning)
               Your orders might be different from mine.

                          LARRY
               What're you talking about, man?  I don't
               understand.

                          SWEDE
                   (quietly, but loud enough to be
                    heard)
               What a surprise...

                          LARRY
               I got a surprise for you, blondie...

                          GREGOR
                   (sharply, as if he's used to
                    giving orders)
               Why don't both of you shut up?

                          LARRY & SWEDE
                   (to Gregor at the same time)
               Fuck you!

                          SAM
               Knock it off!

     There is a BEAT.  Gregor, Swede and Larry look at Sam, who
     glares them all down.  Lastly, Sam turns and looks at
     Vincent.  The two men nod at one another, acknowledging a
     kind of mutual respect.

                          SAM
               The point remains: we could be working
               for different people.  There's a chance
               for one of us...
                   (looks around the table)
               Maybe more than one of us -- has been
               paid to cross the others.  I don't know
               about you guys, but I like to know who
               I'm working for.  It can help prevent a
               great deal of...
                   (finding the right word)
               ...unpleasantness.

                          LARRY
                   (patting the gun inside his
                    cheap suit)
               Anybody tries to unpleasant me I'll put
               two between his eyes -- one to do the job
               and the other to make sure it takes.

     From OFF SCREEN we hear a new sound: LAUGHTER.  ANOTHER ANGLE -

     Deirdre has entered the bar, and she's amused by this last
     exchange.

                          DEIRDRE
               It's good to see you've all got such
               faith in our little undertaking.

                          LARRY
               Who the fuck are you?

                          DEIRDRE
                   (staring at Larry)
               The name is Deirdre, and I'm running this
               show.

                          GREGOR
               Who are you?  IRA?

                          DEIRDRE
                   (with a brittle laugh)
               Not likely.  Once, yeah, I was -- but
               there wasn't an inch of profit in it, and
               I'm a cash oriented girl, if you take my
               meaning.  I'm a hired gun, same as the
               rest of you, and that's all any of us
               needs to know about the other.

     Deirdre hands out several thick envelopes.  Larry and Swede
     open theirs and stare at the wads of Franc Notes stuffed
     inside.  Even Gregor cracks his envelope and peaks at his
     money.  But neither Vincent nor Sam takes a look.